“I knew that was true, so I began to plead with him. I reminded him of the cold war, and how the enemy were about to take Venus, when all we had was Mars. I talked to him about loyalty to Defense and I asked him how he’d feel if he was kicked out of Air. And finally, after what seemed like hours, he said he wouldn’t file charges. I guess he felt sorry for me. He even agreed to sign the checking-out sheet.
“That was that. I went back to the head and put on my clothes and we both went out. We left the room at different times, though, because we were too angry to smile at each other and look happy. Even as it was, I think some of the neutral-area personnel suspected us.”
“Is that what’s been worrying you?” the huxley asked when she seemed to have finished.
“Well… I can trust you, can’t I? You really won’t tell?”
“Certainly I won’t. Anything told to a huxley is a privileged communication. The first amendment applies to us, if to no other profession.”
“Yes. I remember there was a Supreme Court decision about freedom of speech…” She swallowed, choked, and swallowed again. “When I got my next dighting slip,” she said bravely, “I was so upset I applied for a gyn. I hoped the doctor would say there was something physically wrong with me, but he said I was in swell shape. He said, A girl like you ought to be mighty good at keeping interservice tension down.’ So there wasn’t any help there.
“Then I went to a huxley, the huxley I was telling you a-bout. It talked philosophy to me. That wasn’t any help either. So—finally—well, I stole an extra Watson from the lab.”
There was a silence. When she saw that the huxley seemed to have digested her revelation without undue strain, she went on, “I mean, an extra Watson beyond the one I was issued. I couldn’t endure the thought of going through another dight like the one before. There was quite a fuss about the ampule’s being missing. The dighting drugs are under strict control. But they never did find out who’d taken it.”
“And did it help you? The double portion of oestric?” the huxley asked. It was prodding at the top buttons of its waistcoat with one forefinger, rather in the manner of one who is not quite certain he feels an itch.
“Yes, it did. Everything went off well. He—the man—said I was a nice girl, and Marine was a good service, next to Infantry, of course. He was Infantry. I had a fine time myself, and last week when I got a request sheet from Infantry asking for some pig pedigrees, I went ahead and initialed it..That tension reduction does work. I’ve been feeling awfully jittery, though. And yesterday I got another blue dighting slip.
“What am I to do? I can’t steal another Watson. They’ve tightened up the controls. And even if I could, I don’t think one extra would be enough. This time I think it would take two.”
She put her head down on the arm of her chair, gulping desperately.
“You don’t think you’d be all right with just one Watson?” the huxley asked after an interval. “After all, people used to dight habitually without any Watsons at all.”
“That wasn’t interservice dighting. No, I don’t think I’d be all right. You see, this time it’s with Air again. I’m supposed to try to find out about porcine nutrition. And I’ve always particularly hated Air.”
She twisted nervously at the control of her hearing aid. The huxley gave a slight jump. “Ah—well, of course you might resign,” it said in a barely audible voice.
Sonya— in the course of a long-continued struggle there is always a good deal of cultural contamination, and if there were girls named Sonya, Olga, and Tatiana in Defense, there were girls named Shirley and Mary Beth to be found on the enemy’s side—Sonya gave him an incredulous glance. “You must be joking. I think it’s in very poor taste. I didn’t tell you my difficulties for you to make fun of me.”
The huxley appeared to realize that it had gone too far.
“Not, at all, my dear young lady,” it said placatingly. It pressed its hands to its bosom. “Just a suggestion. As you say, it was in poor taste. I should have realized that you’d rather die than not be Marine.”
“Yes, I would.”
She turned the hearing aid down again. The huxley relaxed. “You may not be aware of it, but difficulties like yours are not entirely unknown,” it said. “Perhaps, after a long course of oestrics, antibodies are built up. Given a state of initial physiological reluctance, a forced sexual response might… But you’re not interested in all that. You want help. How about taking your troubles to somebody higher? Taking them all the way up?”
“You mean—the CO?” The huxley nodded.
Major Briggs’ face flushed scarlet. “I can’t do that! I just can’t! No nice girl would. I’d be too ashamed.” She beat on her musette bag with one hand, and began to sob.
Finally she sat up. The huxley was regarding her patiently. She opened her bag, got out cosmetics and mirror, and began to repair emotion’s ravages. Then she extracted an electronically powered vibro-needle from the depths of her bag and began crafting away on some indeterminate white garment.
“I don’t know what I’d do without my crafting,” she said in explanation. “These last few days, it’s all that’s kept me sane. Thank goodness it’s fashionable to do crafting now. Well, I’ve told you all about my troubles. Have you any ideas?”
The huxley regarded her with faintly protruding eyes. The vibro-needle clicked away steadily, so steadily that Sonya was quite unaware of the augmented popping in the huxley’s chest. Besides, the noise was of a frequency that her hearing aid didn’t pick up any too well.
The huxley cleared its throat. “Are you sure your dighting difficulties are really your fault?” it asked in an oddly altered voice.
“Why— I suppose so. After all, there’s been nothing wrong with the men either time.” Major Briggs did not look up from her work.
“Yes, physiologically. But let’s put it this way. And I want you to remember, my dear young lady, that we’re both mature, sophisticated individuals, and that I’m a huxley, after all. Supposing your dighting date had been with… somebody in… Marine. Would you have had any difficulty with it?”
Sonya Briggs put down her crafting, her cheeks flaming. “With a group brother? You have no right to talk to me like that!”
“Now, now. You must be calm.”
The sputtering in the huxley’s chest was by now so loud that only Sonya’s emotion could have made her deaf to it. It was so well-established that even her laying down the vibro-needle had had no effect on it.
“Don’t be offended,” the huxley went on in its unnatural voice. “I was only putting a completely hypothetical case.”
“Then… supposing it’s understood that it’s completely hypothetical and I would never, never dream of doing a thing like that… then, I don’t suppose I’d have had any trouble with it.” She picked up the needle once more.
“In other words, it’s not your fault. Look at it this way. You’re Marine.”
“Yes.” The girl’s head went up proudly. “I’m Marine.”
“Yes. And that means you’re a hundred times—a thousand times—better than any of these twerps you’ve been having to dight with. Isn’t that true? Just in the nature of things. Because you’re Marine.”
“Why— I guess it is. I never thought of it before like that.”
“But you can see it’s true now, when you think of it. Take that date you had with the man from Air. How could it be your fault that you couldn’t respond to him, somebody from Air} Why, it was his fault—it’s as plain as the nose on your face—his fault for being from a repulsive service like Air!”
* * *
Sonya was looking at the huxley with parted lips and shining eyes. “I never thought of it before,” she breathed. “But it’s true. You’re right. You’re wonderfully, wonderfully right!”
“Of course I am,” said the huxley smugly. “I was built to be right. Now, let’s consider this matter of your next date.”
“Yes, let’s.”
“You’ll
go to the neutral area, as usual. You’ll be wearing your miniBAR won’t you?”
“Yes, of course. We always go in armed.”
“Good. You’ll go to the head and undress. You’ll give yourself your Watson. If it works—”
“It won’t. I’m almost sure of it.”
“Hear me out. As I was saying, if it works, you’ll dight. If it doesn’t you’ll be carrying your miniBAR.”
“Where?” asked Sonya, frowning.
“Behind your back. You want to give him a chance. But not too good a chance. If the Watson doesn’t work”—the huxley paused for dramatic effect—“get out your gun and shoot him. Shoot him through the heart. Leave him lying up against a bulkhead. Why should you go through a painful scene like the one you just described for the sake of a yuk from Air?”
“Yes— but—” Sonya had the manner of one who, while striving to be reasonable, is none too sure that reasonableness can be justified. “That wouldn’t reduce interservice tension effectively.”
“My dear young lady, why should interservice tension be reduced at the expense of Marine? Besides, you’ve got to take the big overall view. Whatever benefits Marine, benefits Defense.”
“Yes… That’s true… I think you’ve given me good advice.”
“Of course I have! One thing more. After you shoot him, leave a note with your name, sector, and identity number on it. You’re not ashamed of it.”
“No… No… But I just remembered. How can he give me the pig formula when he’s dead?”
“He’s just as likely to give it to you dead as when he was alive. Besides, think of the humiliation of it. You, Marine, having to lower yourself to wheedle a thing like that out of Air! Why, he ought to be proud, honored, to give the formula to you.”
“Yes, he ought.” Sonya’s lips tightened. “I won’t take any nonsense from him,” she said. “Even if the Watson works and I dight him, I’ll shoot him afterwards. Wouldn’t you?”
“Of course. Any girl with spirit would.”
Major Briggs glanced at her watch. “Twenty past! I’m overdue at the piggery right now. Thank you so much.” She beamed at him. “I’m going to take your advice.”
“I’m glad. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye.”
She walked out of the room, humming. “From the halls of Montezuma…”
Left alone, the huxley interchanged its eyes and nose absently a couple of times. It looked up at the ceiling speculatively, as if it wondered when the bombs from Air, Infantry, and Navy were going to come crashing down. It had had interviews with twelve young women so far, and it had given them all the same advice it had given Major Briggs. Even a huxley with a short in its chest might have foreseen that the final result of its counseling would be catastrophic for Marine.
It sat a little while longer, repeating to itself, “Poppoff, Poppoff. Papa, potatoes, poultry, prunes and prism, prunes and prism.”
Its short was sputtering loudly and cheerfully; it hunted around on the broadcast sound band until it found a program of atonal music that covered the noise successfully. Though its derangement had reached a point that was not far short of insanity, the huxley still retained a certain cunning.
Once more it repeated “Poppoff Poppoff,” to itself. Then it went to the door of its waiting room and called in its next client.
1954. Fantastic Universe
HORRER HOWCE
Dickson-Hawes’s face had turned a delicate pea-green. He closed the shutter on the opening very quickly indeed. Nonetheless, he said in nearly his usual voice, “I’m afraid it’s a trifle literary, Freeman. Reminds of that thing of Yeats’s—‘What monstrous beast, Its time come, uh, round again, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?’ But the people who go to a horror house for amusement aren’t literary, it wouldn’t affect them the way it did me.” He giggled nervously.
No answering emotion disturbed the normal sullenness of Freeman’s face. “I thought there was a nice feel to it,” he said obstinately. “I wouldn’t have put so much time in on this stuff unless I thought you’d be interested. Research is more my line. I could have made a lot more money working on one of the government projects.”
“You didn’t have much choice, did you?” Dickson-Hawes said pleasantly. ‘A political past is such a handicap, unless one’s willing to risk prosecution for perjury.”
“I’m as loyal as anybody! For the last five years—eight, ten—all I’ve wanted to do was make a little cash. The trouble is, I always have such rotten luck.”
“Um.” Dickson Hawes wiped his forehead unobtrusively. “Well, about your little effort. There are some nice touches, certainly. The idea of the monstrous womb, alone on the seashore, slowly swelling, and…” In the folds of his handkerchief he stifled a sort of cough. “No, I’m afraid it’s too poetic. I can’t use it, old chap.”
The two men moved away from the shuttered opening. Freeman said, “Then Spring Scene is the only one you’re taking?”
“Of those of yours I’ve seen. It’s horrid enough, but not too horrid. Haven’t you anything else?” Dickson-Hawes’s voice was eager, but eagerness seemed to be mixed with other things—reluctance, perhaps, and the fear of being afraid.
Freeman fingered his lower lip. “There’s the Well,” he said after a moment. “It needs a little more work done on it, but—I guess you could look at it.”
“I’d be delighted to,” Dickson Hawes agreed heartily. “I do hope you understand, old man, that there’s quite a lot of money involved in this.”
“Yeah. You’ve really got the capital lined up? Twice before, you were sure you had big money interested. But the deals always fell through. I got pretty tired of it.”
“This time it’s different. The money’s already in escrow, not to mention what I’m putting in myself. We intend a coast-to-coast network of horror houses in every gayway, playland, and amusement park.”
“Yeah. Well, come along.”
They went down the corridor to another door. Freeman unlocked it. “By the way,” he said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your voice down. Some of the machinery in this stuffs—delicate. Sensitive.”
“By all means. Of course.”
They entered. To their right was an old brick house, not quite in ruins. To the left, a clump of blackish trees cut off the sky. Just in front of them was the moss-covered coping of an old stone well. The ground around the well was slick with moisture.
Dickson-Hawes sniffed appreciatively. “I must say you’ve paid wonderful attention to detail. It’s exactly like being out of doors. It even smells froggy and damp.”
“Thanks,” Freeman replied with a small, dour smile.
“What happens next?”
“Look down in the well.”
Rather gingerly, Dickson-Hawes approached. He leaned over. From the well came a gurgling splash.
Dickson-Hawes drew back abruptly. Now his face was not quite greenish; it was white. “My word, what a monster!” he gasped. “What is it, anyway?”
“Clockwork,” Freeman answered. “It’ll writhe for thirty-six hours on one winding. I couldn’t use batteries, you know, on account of the water. That greenish flash in the eyes comes from prisms. And the hair is the same thing you get on those expensive fur coats, only longer. I think they call it plastimink.”
“What happens if I keep leaning over? Or if I drop pebbles down on it?”
“It’ll come out at you.”
Dickson-Hawes looked disappointed. “Anything else?”
“The sky gets darker and noises come out of the house. Isn’t that enough?”
Dickson-Hawes coughed. “Well, of course we’d have to soup it up a bit. Put an electrified rail around the well coping and perhaps make the approach to the well slippery so the customers would have to grasp the handrail. Install a couple of air jets to blow the girls’ dress up. And naturally make it a good deal darker so couples can neck when the girl gets scared. But it’s a nice little effort, Freeman, very nice indeed. I’m almost cert
ain we can use it. Yes, we ought to have your Well in our horror house.”
Dickson-Hawes’s voice had rung out strongly on the last few words. Now there came another watery splash from the well. Freeman seemed disturbed.
“I told you to keep your voice down,” he complained. “The partitions are thin. When you talk that loud, you can be heard all over the place. It isn’t good for the—machinery.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t let it happen again… I don’t think the customers ought to neck in here. This isn’t the place for it. If they’ve got to neck, let them do it outside. In the corridor.”
“You have no idea, old chap, what people will do in a darkened corridor in a horror house. It seems to stimulate them. But you may be right. Letting them stay here to neck might spoil the illusion. We’ll try to get them on out.”
“Okay. How much are you paying me for this?”
“Our lawyer will have to discuss the details,” said Dickson-Hawes. He gave Freeman a smile reeking with synthetic charm. “I assure you he can draw up a satisfactory contract. I can’t be more definite until I know what the copyright or patent situation would be.”
“I don’t think my Well could be patented,” Freeman said. “There are details in the machinery nobody understands but me. I’d have to install each unit in your horror-house network myself. There ought to be a clause in the contract about my per diem expenses and a traveling allowance.”
“I’m sure we can work out something mutually satisfactory.’
“Uh… let’s get out of here. This is an awfully damp place to do much talking in.’
They went out into the hall again. Freeman locked the door. “Have you anything else?” Dickson-Hawes asked.
Freeman’s eyes moved away. “No.”
“Oh, come now, old chap. Don’t be coy. As I told you before, there’s money involved.”
“What sort of thing do you want?”
“Well, horrid. Though not quite so poetically horrid as what you have behind the shutter. That’s a little too much. Perhaps something with a trifle more action. With more customer participation. Both the Well and Spring Scene are on the static side.”
The Best of Margaret St. Clair Page 20
